The Antihero
by xKymSaphiranx
Summary: AU: A story about what could have been.
1. The Beginning

**Standard Disclaimer: I do not and will not make a profit from anything found on this page.**

**The Beginning**

* * *

The usually meticulous desk was littered with scraps of food and paper. The occupant of said desk looked a little worse for wear. Disheveled hair and red eyes faced a glaring computer screen.

He decided to glare back.

Hours of research had resulted in little if nothing on his chosen topic. He had hoped to finish his preliminary research by the end of the night; instead he had a compiled list of a few dozen questionable points of reference in which to begin.

He glanced at his phone.

The innocuous device sat about three and a half feet away from him, just out of reach. He knew he should just move his chair an inch or two closer, but the willingness to do so was simply not present.

He turned back to the screen.

Perhaps a few more minutes of research would yield some real results. The wishful thought swam through his head even as he clicked open various windows. Skimming through most of the superfluous information, he began to resign himself to the fact that this method of research was getting him nowhere.

He glanced at his phone again.

It would be so simple to reach out; the temptation was there. All he had to do was dial a number and this pointless search would be over. Except, this was becoming a matter of pride. He hadn't thought this subject would be so obscure, especially on the Internet.

He spun his chair.

The chair stopped. He let his head fall back to stare up at the ceiling. The plainness of the ceiling soothed his frazzled nerves. He was trying to avoid any illegal methods of obtaining information, but maybe he would have to utilize his skills or connections. But before that….

He pushed his chair closer to the phone.

The device was now in reach. He thought again about the consequence of using it. Looking at the time, he saw that it was an hour until midnight. His contact would still be awake, lively even.

He called.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi!"

"Who is this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Yagami, I thought you would recognize me. It's Shindou."

"Ah. I'm sorry, Shindou-kun. You sound different on the phone. Is there something I can help you with?"

Shindou forced out a small laugh. There was something about Yagami Raito that made him feel as if he were being indulged, as if they were on different levels. Placing that thought aside he asked, "I was actually wondering if you knew anything that could help me with my paper…"

There was a pause on the other end. "That's fine. What is your topic?"

"It's about the effect that recycling has on the community."

Shindou heard a rustling noise; there was a slightly guilty thought that maybe Yagami had been sleeping before he called. The boy in question simply sighed. "Could you be more specific? Perhaps what aspects of the community, such as community life, interaction, benefits, detriments?"

Shindou gave an embarrassed laugh. "I...uh…hadn't actually thought about any of that. I was just skimming through…" He trailed off as he realized how unprepared he seemed.

"In that case, I think you should first choose a topic or two that you would like to focus on and then go out and find statistical data, either on a government based site or at a bookstore. There should be many books on recycling in general. As Japan is one of the strongest adherents to recycling, you should be able to find multiple references, even if they are not Japanese publications. From there, you may think about using your own community or neighborhood as an example to expand from, perhaps by comparing it to others. If you think it necessary, you should also speak with the one in charge of the recycling in the neighborhood. If you do not know them personally, I'm sure your parents must. Ah, you could also make a comparison of the city's method of recycling and the rural method; it would be interesting."

"Ah, thanks. Yeah, thank you for the advice Yagami, I'll be sure to use it!"

Yagami gave a rather noncommittal noise of affirmation, and then tacked on, "Good luck," right before he shut his phone.

Shindou glanced at his phone with a measure of relief. Talking to Yagami was often trying, but the results were always worth the effort. Now he wouldn't have to call Chiri to come up with a better topic. He whistled as he scooted closer to his computer. A couple of minutes typing down the suggestions would produce a basic outline that he could use to speak with his teacher.

University professors talked to students distractedly, more concerned with bigger concerns. However, the existence of an outline would show his professor his diligence.

* * *

Raito Yagami stared at his phone with a miffed expression. It was nearly midnight. He had been dozing up until the point Shindou called. To be blunt, he was confused. Other than standard greetings with the boy, he rarely if ever interacted with him. Then again, he was asking for help with schoolwork. As soon as he thought that, it occurred to him that the last time he saw Shindou was the previous year, and that he was older than him.

Shaking his head, Raito thought of returning to his attempt at sleep. It would be nice relax into the blissful abyss. Instead, he was left with his recent insomnia.

Every time he closed his eyes, the image of a falling book appeared. There was something infinitely significant about the book. Something that tore at his mind with a ferocity that he could not stifle.

He knew; he knew that the book would change everything. Never one to rely purely on instinct, the illogical feelings of desire and repulsion warred within him.

What sort of hold did the book have on him?

Why couldn't he stop thinking about it?

What was it?

Where does it land?

Would it land?

Raito was not one who believed in destiny. He believed that hard work and dedication would yield the results he desired.

But, wouldn't it be nice if things were decided for him?

* * *

In another world, a shinigami told his companions that he lost his Death Note.


	2. Echoes

**Echoes**

* * *

The teacher was explaining the newest topic the class was to study. It was a standard calculus class, introducing students to the concept of complex series.

Raito absently glanced out the window. There was a bird nesting on top of the building, and he was curious as to whether or not its chicks had hatched. As his gaze moved higher, he noticed the bird circling; maybe it was searching for a source of food. He decided to check the roof in a few days.

His gaze shifted lower towards the school track. Wisps of dust swirled about the plain field. It was like a barren wasteland. Only, only, he never had that thought before. The field was devoid of any sign of life, worn away by shoes of running students.

What had changed?

Eyes soaked in the details. The grounds were the same as they had been ever since he began his daydreaming. The outer perimeter was so apparent; the area where dirt met grass was so abrupt the eye had to refocus to take in the sheer amount of color present.

He repressed a sigh. This was troublesome. The lack of sleep was getting to him more than he would like to admit. His eyes had stopped focusing. They continued to drift, just as his thoughts.

By the time Raito bothered to listen to his teacher, she was nearly finished speaking. She was giving a few words of advice and teasing the boys in the front row.

Raito turned away, annoyed without a reason.

And then he thought his heart jolted to a stop when he noticed a book on the field.

Something in him resonated as he shifted fully to stare. He could hear the teacher leaving with a few parting words; he could hear his classmates chattering; but all he noticed was the rush of blood as his heart pumped with nervous anticipation.

The final class of the day passed by in a blur. He couldn't recall a single word that was spoken. All he knew was that time was running out and he needed that book.

As school let out, Raito ignored his classmates and walked with controlled steps toward the notebook. This was the moment of truth. Whatever happens afterward would be a testament to how truly life changing he imagined this to be.

When he reached the book, he looked around, measuring the attentiveness of the people surrounding him. No one was looking directly at him so he stooped slowly to pick it up. Oddly, he thought he perceived a faint pulse as he first made contact. A slight chill ran up his spine and he barely suppressed a shudder.

"Death Note, a notebook of death. How strange." His faint murmur drew the eye of a lone figure, but seeing Raito Yagami, the top student, the boy turned away immediately. Who knew what top students thought about.

Raito's heart fluttered with excitement even as he read the title and explanation with faint amusement. The English was troublesome; he needed more fluency in order to fully understand what the words were trying to tell him.

A small part of his mind was occupied with bitter, _bitter_, disappointment. This was what he was anticipating? This elaborate prank of death?

However, his more whimsical side won out as he quietly slipped the book away in his bag.

* * *

The book couldn't possibly do what its directions said it did.

Disenchanted, Raito fell on his bed with a resigned sigh. This hoax could not possibly be what he had been waiting for, not this ridiculous, illogical _thing_. But a sliver of doubt entered his head. What if it was real? Would he have the power to control death? Would he be able to dole out what he knew to be justice?

As he walked over to his desk and prepared to write a name, he had a rather naïve question pop into his head, "If it actually does work, am I a murderer?" His mind told him that the black and white world of his youth did not exist. The world consisted of shades of gray, some darker than others. Still, he hesitated. A darker aspect of his personality that he rarely let out whispered the thought of a worthless death: the taking of a life that did not deserve life. He knew his maturity level was high, higher than normal, why couldn't he judge his equals? The feeble protests of his morals were drowned out by the decision.

Resolved, Raito clicked on his television set. The familiar news channel's story focused on Kurou Otoharada. This man was perfect. He was a clear example of scum: killing indiscriminately, holding a preschool hostage, a waste of human morality.

The kanji for the name was shakier than he would have liked, but this was just an experiment. The live broadcast continued on for the allotted death time of forty seconds and nothing happened. Faintly disappointed, Raito turned to click off the set when the hostages ran out.

"No, impossible."

This could not possibly be real. This…was really happening. The shock was setting in; he just killed someone. No, maybe it was just a coincidence. There was no way, and yet the proof was there. How? How was this real? Raito's mind reeled; he could feel his grasp on reality slip away. No, he had to make sure. He had to…find someone who didn't matter: someone who no one would miss, someone who deserved it.

The poisonous righteous that had stayed in the background was rising up. Raito could feel his more negative aspects claw their way to the surface. The morals and ideas of his father were failing in the face of this new possibility. He was above the norm; he could judge impartially; he could rid the world of evil. Surely people were comfortable with that idea; they would be able to live without fear and constant anxiety, a utopia headed by Raito Yagami.

At cram school, the shock was wearing off, but not quickly enough. For some reason it felt like he had multiple personalities warring for authority. A growing minority of his thoughts were leaning towards burning the damn book, but that dark suggestive voice whispered of perfection in this corrupt, sullied world.

The growing alienation from society was becoming clearer in his mind. These people were not like him. Raito Yagami, top student, brilliant mind, genius even. He was in a class of his own compared to these humans who lived in this awful world contentedly. He was a revolutionary force that could change everything with the power of his intelligence.

The harassment he witnessed was a catalyst that caused him to want to see his new found power first hand. He would be a God, and Takuo Shibuimaru would be his first intentional victim. He waited patiently as he tested each kanji spelling of the name until only one remained. He absently scoffed that the disgusting man would have the hardest kanji to recognize.

This would be it. Forty seconds and he would witness the end of a worthless life.

He shivered with anticipation.

* * *

Blood.

Everywhere.

Body parts barely held together.

Broken.

Shattered.

Blood.

That was_ blood_.

Why was there so much blood?


	3. Macabre

**Macabre**

This blood was human once.

It belonged to a man who enjoyed bikes, beer, and women. He wasn't the best type of man, but he wasn't the worst either. But that is of little consequence. He is dead. He died with two of the things he loved, though many would blame the third as his downfall. No one would ever know that a young boy was the original cause of death, though he may or may not ever acknowledge it.

The young boy prided himself on his cool head, on his reactionary expressions. He gave away glimpses of his emotions, nothing more and nothing less. But this _death_, this gruesome, bloody thing was not something to be dealt with lightly.

The blood. It had a heavy smell, metallic and reminiscent of rot. He could feel the blood in the air coating his body, sinking into his skin.

The bile was rising, churning his stomach. He looked swiftly for a store, a bathroom, hell, a trashcan. When none caught his eye, he paused to lean against a stone wall. He breathed shallowly, realizing that deep breaths would only lead to the vomiting he was trying to avoid.

_Murderer._

_Murderer._

Twice now. His hands were stained. What was he thinking?

The first death had not mattered. That one was a criminal, a man who deserved it. He committed heinous acts and Raito was simply judging him based on the realities of the world. A jury would have maybe let him slip away with a few life-time imprisonment sentences, but he knew that true justice was met. Imprisonment was not a solution to all crimes.

But this second death. The second death occurred without a logical reason. Raito had committed a crime, intentionally. The bile rose up again. What would his father say if he discovered this?

He would say…

Surely he would understand…

No.

Soichiro Yagami was a man of convictions and there was one thing he was absolutely believed in: human fallibility. Something trivial and so obvious, yet that belief colored all of his perceptions of the world. The ringing words were familiar and damning.

_The world can never be cleansed of human evils, Raito. It's an ideal that cannot be met as long as humans exist. We create our own tragedies, with our greed and our pride and our lust. No, Raito, as long as humans exist, there will never be peace._

Those words, imprinted onto his brain were the result of a foolish declaration a few years back. Raito had spoken with his father about his plans after his schooling. He said he wanted to do something similar to his father. He wanted to get rid of the people that caused the misery in the world. He wanted to help create a peaceful world where crime was eliminated.

Raito fundamentally knew that his idea for a utopian society was foolish, but he so wished for it to be real. Life could be without flaw. Everything could be so perfect. A world without crime, without undue pain, without the trash that cluttered up the streets. What was so wrong for trying to make that type of world possible?

Guilt. Uncertainty. Murder.

No.

He had done nothing wrong. The first one didn't matter. _Who cared that he died?_ But the second one. The second man had not been meant to die.

No.

The second was an unfortunate experiment. A man that was caught in the crossfire of divine power. He was just a casualty in the search for perfection.

Yes.

He was always thinking it. _This world is rotten. The rotten should die._ And he could do it. With this book, he could……but what could he do to prevent his own guilt.

His mind.

* * *

The room was too cold he decided.

There couldn't possibly be any other reason for his behavior.

He was shivering, feeling a chill run down his spine constantly. Even the blankets he was curled up in could not shield him from the cold that pervaded his senses. It did nothing for the rank smell of blood that seemed to coat his nose and the back of his throat.

Raito felt pitiful behind all of his justifications. It was only two people and he was like this. But they were still two people, two once living, breathing creatures whose time he had stolen.

No.

It would not be easy, but he had to do this. He could not stop, not after he committed himself to his utopia. Even if this endeavor cost him his life and mind, he could not stop. Things could not remain as they were. He would do it. No one else was capable of this task. There was no one he could trust with this. He would use the Death Note to change the world.

* * *

The only thing to be worried about was his frightening sense of justice manifested by his imagination. Surely what he was doing would be punished in some way. Every action had a consequence, and these actions would surely have….severe consequences.

But who were the shinigami?

If this Death Note gave the power to kill, what were shinigami capable of doing? Could they kill him without thought, without remorse? The folk tales of shinigami only described them as deities of death; what could they do? Were they even real?

No. Stop thinking.

His paranoia left him nearly crippled, both mentally and physically. Days went by in a daze of possibilities even as he filled in thousands of names into the Death Note. The uncertainty of his actions left him uneasy, but that did not keep him from utilizing the Note.

He had the television, his computer, his father's computer to give him faces and names of thousands of criminals, each who fell to a heart attack. However, when confronted with the nearly endless lists, he had narrowed his focus on the men and women who received life imprisonments.

Ironically, those people were more often then not murderers.

_Murderer._

Stop.

His physical body showed the strain of his mental stress. After frantic scribbling, he would collapse onto his bed exhausted. And then the process would start again. He was losing weight rapidly.

The mental shock would hit him at random intervals, and he would curl up, cocooned in his blankets childishly. It appeared that his body thought to ward away the angry spirits of the dead, or his own guilt.

_Guilty._

Raito had joined the ranks of the killers he despised, but the work he was doing was so much more than what those killers had done mindlessly. He had an objective.

_They had objectives, too._

Stop.

He was losing his mind.

* * *

In another country, Interpol held an emergency council.

Criminals were dying at a rapid rate.

What in the world was happening?

* * *

The dim glow of a computer monitor reflected against L has he watched the Interpol meeting via the live feed Whammy had hacked.

He smirked. Now that Interpol was acting, he definitely couldn't avoid helping the police on this case.

* * *

And in the midst of all this, Ryuuku finally found the Death Note.

"Looks like you're enjoying it."

The shinigami chuckled at the scream of terror that rang through the air.

Heh. Heh.

* * *


End file.
